


Plums' Place

by Pomegranate_Seedz



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Hades Tigers (Blaseball Team)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pomegranate_Seedz/pseuds/Pomegranate_Seedz
Summary: Carmelo Plums, blaseball player and fruitcake, struggles to find their place in the underworld.
Kudos: 6





	Plums' Place

The blaseball player and fruit cake come-to-life known as Carmelo Plums woke up early before the rest of the team. They hand-made bagels and popped them in the oven. They sipped tea and perused The Hades Chronicle, the underworld's most esteemed newspaper. When the team awakened, Plums made sure their fellow blaseball players had all the bagels and tea they could want, and then Plums returned to the mini-fridge to squeeze in a nap before that day’s game. The rest of the day was for blaseball. Then they'd come home, they’d have dinner, and they’d head back to the fridge for the night. 

Plums had only existed for a few weeks, and yet they felt as if this routine had been going on forever, as if it had been baked into them along with everything else. What had there been before? Plums couldn't remember. The motto of The Hades Tiger’s blaseball team was “Never Look Back.” That was easy enough for Plums. They had nothing to look back on except the few weeks since they’d woken up in the mini-fridge. And yet, Plums could not shake the feeling that they weren’t supposed to be here. 

From all Plums had heard of the chef who’d made them, Moody Cookbook, they seemed like a much better fit for The Hades Tigers blaseball team. Moody was a daring chef and a great blaseball player who could strike terror into their opponents with their ominous aura. In a game of angry peanut gods, murderous umpires, and storms that rained blood, fear was a commodity. But no one feared Plums. No, most of the other players joked about how scrumptious the walking fruitcake looked as they bounded between the bases. And how was Plums supposed to fill Cookbook's shoes when they could barely find a pair of cleats that would fit their small, perfectly glazed feet? The Hades Tigers had been extremely welcoming, but Plums couldn't escape the feeling there had been some kind of mistake. Moody Cookbook should not have been incinerated by a rogue umpire, and Carmelo Plums should be nothing more than a dessert. 

Ren Moren, the one literal tiger on The Tigers, must have noticed Plums’ trepidation because he very kindly gifted them a sign for the mini-fridge. It was hand-crafted out of a plank of wood painted plum-purple. Carved into it were letters spelling out “Plums’ Place” which were highlighted in gold-leaf. And on the back, Ren had glued a magnetic strip so that the sign could be easily placed on the mini-fridge door. 

"We have plenty to remember Cookbook by," he explained. "But this little fridge is yours. It's where you rest. It ought to belong to you. To me, it's no longer ‘Moody’s fridge.’ It's “Plums’ Place!’"

Ren's kindness overwhelmed Plums, but when he left the kitchen, they tucked the sign away on the kitchen book-shelf. They couldn’t be convinced it was their fridge, or their kitchen, or even their position on the blaseball team. 

Plums took down Moody's cookbook from the shelf. It was all that was left of Moody. When they had been incinerated their body had vanished, but the thick red cookbook that had floated atop their shoulders remained. Painted on the cover was a large white eye. Plums’ teammates said the eye was very much alive back when it was attached to Moody's body, but now its stare was empty. Plums had read the pages of the cookbook religiously their first week in the kitchen as if one of the recipes would give them an answer for their existence. 

“I’m afraid the only answers you’ll find in there,” Mummy had said. “Are solutions for grumbling tummies!” 

Mummy Melcan had also just joined the team after a beloved Tigers pitcher had been incinerated in the very same game in which Moody was vanquished. Mummy shared Plums’ love of cooking and the two of them had, over the last few weeks, hit if off while making Moody's kitchen their own. Plums envied Mummy’s ease here amongst the undead. The whole team remarked how fortuitous it was that Mummy was-- a mummy. Mummy was never unnerved by the excited crowds of the undead at the stadium, their pale hungry eyes staring out from sunken sockets. But of course, they didn't lick their lips at Mummy the way they did at Plums. 

One day, biking home from the stadium, Plums encountered a withered old man trying to climb out of The River Styx. He struggled along the bank, half out of the water. When Plums stopped to help him up, he grabbed their leg and tried to gnaw it off. Luckily, Plums had their spatula handy and was able to give him a few thwacks on the head. He howled and descended back into the river.

Plums pedaled home in shock, plopped down at the kitchen table, and told Mummy all about the attack. "Mummy," Plums said. "We don't think we belong here." 

“Nonsense,” Mummy said. “ Haven’t you heard? We have many stripes, but we are one tiger. Everyone loves that you’re on the team!” 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Plums said. “The whole place is set up for people as undead as you.” 

“And what about me?” said Ren Moren as he hopped into the kitchen, looking as dapper as ever, his orange fur bright against his immaculately white blaseball uniform. “I assure you, I’m as alive as the sun blazing over The Hellmouth.” 

“But you’re a tiger!” Plums said, “No one would try to eat you.” 

“Ah, but they would. Tigers are far from the apex predator down here, dearie.” 

“Ren,“ Mummy said, “Don’t tease. One of those poor souls in the Styx tried to take a bite out of our favorite fruitcake.” 

Ren scowled. “Oh dear, I fear things have been so hectic we may have left some important safety information out of your orientation. Most citizens of Hades are committed to a more modern approach to the afterlife, but there are still many who hold to the old ways. That’s why all us living beings have talismans.”

“Talismans?” Plums asked. 

Ren pulled a chain from out of his collar. Hanging on the end was a large black fang. ”A genuine tooth of Cerberus. Snagged it off of that mangy mutt back in my adventuring days. The undead can sense the fang and they dread it! They dare not approach me.’ 

“Do you have an extra one we could borrow?” 

Ren laughed. "No, my dear, and that's not how talismans work anyway. You have to come up with your own symbol. Something that represents that part of you that ought not to be trifled with. Do you have something like that?" 

Plums thought. “We’re afraid we haven’t been around long enough to have an adventure.” 

"'You'll figure it out. I'm certain of it! But until you've got it sorted, let's keep the doors locked and perhaps don't go on any more of those solo bike rides you're so fond of. Take someone with you. Mummy's always good for a ride, isn't she?" 

Plums agreed, but the team was a busy sort and Plums didn't want to slow anyone else down. They did not go on any more solo bike rides, but they also didn't keep anyone else from running errands and going about their general business. So it was that Plums found herself alone in the kitchen when a pale-faced woman knocked at the front door. The woman looked like much of the dead in Hades. Her skin was pale and paper-thin as if it might be blown off in a strong gust of wind. She wore a tattered robe and her eyes were white all the way through. 

"I hate to put you out," the woman said, her voice like sandpaper, "But I was all turned around for a few hours. Lost my way home. I've found my road now, but I'm famished. If I could just have a nibble, I'll be on my way." Plums felt uneasy but knew hospitality, especially toward strangers, was taken seriously in Hades. They let the woman in and invited her to have a seat at the kitchen table. 

"We have some croissants leftover from this morning," Plums said. 

“How kind,” the woman replied.

“Tea?” Plums asked. 

"Black if you have it," the woman said, "No cream or sugar." She grinned wide, showing teeth that looked a little too long, a little too sharp. Plums put on a kettle and when they turned back around they found the woman rummaging through the mini-fridge. 

“Oh dear,” Plums exclaimed. “Excuse me, We’re terribly sorry, but we only use that one for lodging.” 

The woman turned, her white eyes glazed over. “But I can smell it,” she growled. 

“Smell what?” 

“Life,” she said, and she drew the word out as if she were savoring the flavor of it. “Warm, toasty creation.” 

“We think you smell the croissants,” Plums said. 

The woman squinted at Plums. “How did you get here, cupcake?” 

“Fruit cake,” Plums corrected. “ And we don’t know. We just-- woke up.” 

The woman sniffed the air in one long breath. “You were…” her eyes widened in realization, “Born here!” She dropped to her knees, her eyes watering. “Please. Just one bite. That’s all I ask. The tip of your toe perhaps?” 

“A bite?” 

“A nibble. My mouth's as dry as the dessert! As cold as a fish! I need something, anything to feel some warmth again.” She grasped at Plums’s shoe and began to undo the laces. 

The tea kettle whistled. 

"Tea!" Plums exclaimed. "Tea will help." They moved to fetch the kettle, but the woman grabbed Plums' ankle.

“No,” the woman screamed out. “Only one thing will do!” She lunged for Plums’ leg, but Plums was able to roll away on their tummy to the bookshelf next to the fridge. Moody's book fell right in front of them. The woman had gotten to her feet and ambled over to Plums, her mouth slathering. 

“No!” Plums yelled. “We don’t want to be eaten. Not even the tips of our toes!” 

“Selfish little cake!” The woman roared. “You belong to the dead now!” 

She lunged and Plums held up the cookbook as if it were a shield. The woman stopped, lifting her hands over her face. 

“The eye! Not the eye!” the woman screamed. “It sees me. Please stop!” 

“Oh, please leave.” Plums said. 

“I will have my cake!” the woman screeched, averting her eyes and stepping forward. 

Plums gripped the cookbook and clenched their eyes shut, willing someone or something to appear. Their mind drifted to the thing that always calmed them best: a good recipe. The book grew hot in their hands. Plums had to drop it before it began to toast their fingers. It fell flat on the floor, eye side down. The woman ran forward and kicked the book to the side with a cackle. Plums closed their eyes and waited for those horrible teeth to bite down. But the woman stopped and turned toward the mini-fridge. 

"What was that?" She asked. 

Plums listened. There was a thump coming from the fridge followed by a sliding sound. And then another and another. Fwump, thwap, fwump. The lashings grew more rapid as if a many-fingered hand was fumbling for grip from within. 

The woman twisted her face. "I knew you were hiding something in there." She ran to the fridge and flung the door open. Out flew a swarm of snakes with wide-open mouths. They latched onto the woman. A large one opened its jaws wide over her head, the others took the woman’s limbs down their throats. The snakes writhed as they slid their jaws further and further over the woman. 

Plums covered their eyes, not able to watch to the end. The screaming stopped. The kitchen fell silent. Plums wondered if the snakes would come for them next. But then it dawned on Plums they would not. They had come from their mini-fridge. They were on Plums’ snakes. 

“Carmelo?” a voice called. Plums opened their eyes. It was Mummy standing over them holding a bag of groceries. “Are you okay?” 

Plums looked to the floor and saw the snakes lying still, only they looked a little plumper now. Mummy picked one up. "Why are there green baguettes scattered all over the floor?" 

Plums couldn’t believe their eyes. They weren’t snakes at all, but long, perfectly toasted pistachio green baguettes. “We…” Plums said. “We made them.”

Mummy took a bite. “Mmm, still warm. And delicious! My dear, I think these might be even better than your bagels. But let’s not leave them all over the floor, dearie. What a mess!” 

Plums picked up the baguettes as Mummy fired up the kettle once more. Ren came in, sleepy-eyed. "What in the name of Zeus were you all cooking down here? The ruckus woke me up." 

“A new recipe,” Plums said as they put Moody’s book back on the shelf. They took down the sign Ren had made them and stuck it on the fridge. “Plums’ Place.” 

“Ah, that’s an improvement!” Ren said. 

“We think we’ll make a dish from Moody’s book tonight.” Plums said. 

“Are you sure?” Mummy asked. “Moody’s recipes are not for the faint of heart.” 

Plums put a few baguettes in a basket and strapped their bicycle helmet on. “We are small. But we are not afraid.” 

“Going for a ride?” Mummy asked.

"Something tells me you found your talisman," Ren said.

“We have,” Plums said, taking a bite of a baguette. “And it's delicious.” 

“Splendid! Never look back, Plums.” 

“Never look back, Ren.”


End file.
